


Fancy Yourself

by runwithneedles



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol, Black Sails - Freeform, Black Sails season one, Canon-Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Drinking, Ficlet, Gen, Nassau, death mention, did they have sake? I am told the dates line up, gen - Freeform, it's fine, minor mention of violence, sake, they have hopes and dreams and it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runwithneedles/pseuds/runwithneedles
Summary: Hal and Flint drink and dream of the future.a drabble for my sweet egg son Hal Gates, beleaguered Hufflepuff among Slytherins. I wrote it while losing my mind of boredom in a work meeting 9 months ago and only just edited and posted. RIP my efficiency.(did the pirates have sake? I did not dig deep enough to find, but I am told the dates check out. )





	Fancy Yourself

The hot wind would have tugged at Hal’s hair, if he’d had any. The sun smooched his bald head, promising to leave a burn even as it set. He made a mental note to visit the apothecary for more salve. 

Damned sun. Damned heat. He was tired and tired and tired in his soul: a small prize, a nasty fight, two men lost. Most days the nature of his work didn’t bother him, most days he knew well that he’d much rather be here than haggling and groveling in London’s various filthy holes. Not today. Today the surety eluded him, the echo of shrouded bodies hitting water still loud in his mind. 

“Hal.”

God, he was quiet as a cat, wasn't he? Hal is not expecting a smile, but Flint gives him one anyway, and a slap on the shoulder. 

“I’ve got something to destroy, lend me your aid.” 

Flint swipes two mugs from the tent, ignores Randall’s grumbling, and seats himself in the shade under a pair of palms. Hal joins him. 

The captain is also more burnt than usual. Neither of them are suited to the climate, or to hats.  
Flint produces a small bottle from somewhere deep in his coat: enough to fill both mugs halfway, but no more. 

Hal cannot resist ribbing him.

“You’ve got nerve, to interrupt me in my business for half a mug. After the day we’ve had, I need ten times that at least”

“Save your grumbling and taste it, old bear.”

It’s clear, like water. If it’s water Hal will eat him. He glares fiercely. 

Flint winks at him. Winks?! Something is up. 

Hal drinks: the liquor is smooth, light and fresh, tasting of cucumber and jasmine and sharp clean air, accompanied by a spreading feeling of cool fire as he swallows. 

“I’ve been spirited away to the garden. I’ve got no woes and no sunburn. What IS this?”

“Rice wine” says Flint, chuckling. “All the way from the Far East. I’ve had it once before. Sail away, Hal, fancy yourself under a blooming cherry tree.”

Hal fancies, but only for a moment.

“What I’m fancying is: why, after such a day, you’re smirking like a hungry kid who’s found what mother’s teats are for.”

Flint looks towards the water, as if he can see past the edge of the sea, as if it’s not an endless pond, but a highway, free and open, calling them towards an unseen goal. 

“I’ve caught wind of an idea, Hal, a prize of great size, big enough to truly ease the struggle, maybe. I dare not say it aloud, or it’ll vanish. But imagine it! A way to fill these tired souls we lead with a little less pain, a little more peace. Sit in it with me awhile.”

Hal feels a quiet misgiving at these words, but Flint’s earnestness and the sound of real hope in his voice smooths it over. 

He feels as if he can see it, whatever the captain’s looking at, almost out of reach of his senses, but not quite.


End file.
